Page 2 of Forget Me Not

Mom manages to get on her feet, only to gasp for breath as she stumbles backward, allowing herself to fall on our shared bed. Getting herself comfortable takes every ounce of strength she has, but when she lies back, she’s finally smiling. “Oh, Rhea. You are an angel.”

Her words and smiles are meant to be a distraction because she doesn't want me to press on the fact that she can barely breathe right now.

“You need to see a doctor, Mom.” My voice is stern, eyebrows pinned to my forehead.

She lifts her head off the bed, arms still lying on either side of her. “It’s just a cold, Rhea. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“The words of a promise mean nothing if they’re drowned out by the loudness of our actions.”

She smirks. “I’ve taught you well.”

“That you have.” I grab both of her hands and lift her until she’s sitting. “But this isn’t one of our schemes, Mom. This is real life and it’s a life I won’t survive without you. You need to see a doctor.” I gently tuck a stray hair behind her ear and her body seems to give in a way I’m not used to seeing from the strong woman who raised me. So, I keep pushing. “Please. For me.”

“Oh, Rhea.” She grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto her lap. “I love you, my sweet girl, but you really are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“It’s not like you’ve given me much of a choice in the matter.”

Mom frowns. “You are so mature for your age, honey.” She lets out a small laugh. “I blame myself for that. It won’t always be like this. And I promise I’m going to spend a lifetime making it up to you.”

I’d like to believe her, but unless we hit big, I don’t see us ever leaving this lifestyle behind. These promises are nothing new. Three years ago, it was a trip to Disney World. Two years ago, it was public school. Last year, we were supposed to get a home. Yet, here we are. I’m not even sure who I am today. Was it Jenny or Kate? Doesn’t matter, as long as I’m anyone but me.

“Are you hungry?” Mom asks. “Let’s celebrate.”

“Aren’t you being a little presumptuous in thinking I might actually pull this off?”

She picks up the hotel phone and brings it to her ear. She clears the phlegm from her throat and says in a clear but raspy voice, “You’re my daughter, Rhea. I have not a single doubt in my mind that tonight will go flawlessly.”

I listen as she orders room service on the card of another guest. A minute later, she sets the phone down, an artful smile playing on her lips. “Dinner is on its way.”

* * *

“Look at this shit,Winton. They sent a toddler.”

I drop the briefcase in my hand, letting it hit the pavement with a thunderous clap. “Very funny, asshole. Now, do you want the goods or not?”

The man I take to be Winton snaps his fingers, eyeing me. “You’re Trixie’s girl, ain't ya?”

Holding my composure, I keep my expression stoic. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”

Trixie was my mom’s stage name before I was born. She was a well-known stripper in Vegas whose name made the rounds. Her reputation precedes her as one of the most unscrupulous females in our line of work.

“A little Trixie,” the man singsongs as he comes closer. Chills dance down my spine at his close proximity, but I don’t show my fear.

Taking a step back, I seethe at him. “It’ll do you good to keep in mind that if I am Trixie’s daughter and you fuck with me, you fuck with her.”

A new man steps out of the shadows. One of many I’m sure are watching from afar. This one with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. He’s wearing a suit that tells me he’s likely the one in charge.

He draws a long drag of the cigarette, then flicks it over my shoulder into the bay. “Open it up, little girl.”

My knees knock as I crouch down in front of the briefcase. The newcomer shines a light down, watching intently as I flip it open, exposing clear sacks with different powders in a multitude of colors.

He brings his foot down hard on the top, forcing pressure with my fingers still inside. “Let up, asshole!” I screech.

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest before he finally shifts his grip enough for me to wiggle my fingers free. I give them a shake, then flip him off with my middle finger.

He grumbles at my gesture. “Cute.”

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